


A Burden Heavier than Armor

by IntoTheRiverStyx



Series: The Stories We Tell [2]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Post-Battle of Camlann, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22339945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx
Summary: The Company tries to establish how they're feeling about their undertaking. Personalities and personal ghosts clash, but hope is a resilient thing.
Relationships: Bedivere/Kay (Arthurian)
Series: The Stories We Tell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608088
Kudos: 8





	A Burden Heavier than Armor

Kai sat on the top of a pile of stones, a wolf's pelt draped around his shoulders, staring out into the darkness. It was, as far as he could tell, the same pitch black all the way around him.

He hoped it would stay that way.

Not for the first, or even the third, time he cursed the rushed thoughts, the panic, that held his mind captive. There were few things he wouldn't give to be able to make himself warmer for the duration of his watch.

His watch ended whenever Galahad woke to relieve him, which could be anywhere from the next few moments to after the sun had risen. He hadn't realized how valuable keeping a low, smoldering fire was to telling time.

A snap of twigs behind him broke him from his thoughts.

He stood and whirled around, hand on the hip his sword normally hung.

“Easy,” Galahad's voice was calm, “I've come to let you get some sleep.”

“Were that it was so easy,” Kai replied, “Will you be alright to watch until morning?”

“Should Mordred fail to rouse himself, yes,” Galahad assured him, “Will you be able to find sleep?”

“Won't know until I try,” Kai finally removed his hand from his sword hip, “Try to have an uneventful watch.” He walked back to where he approximated his tent was as quietly as he could.

“Kai,” Galahad called after him.

“Galahad,” Kai answered.

“What if this isn't for the best?” the younger knight asked, “What if we do more harm than good?”

“You're worried about that now?” Kai huffed, “This was your idea.”

“It was,” Galahad nodded despite knowing Kai could not see the gesture, “Have you not asked yourself the same questions, though?”

“I have done what I thought was right – what I thought was best – more times than I care to count,” Kai bit out, “I have been wrong nearly as many times.”

“You misestimate the good you have done,” Galahad argued, “and the good you have caused.”

“As you over-state it,” Kai growled, “What if whatever we're doing winds up being what you fear rather than what you hope?”

“Then perhaps it would be better to let everything fade to time,” Galahad fumbled around until he found the rock Kai had been perched on, “But I'd still like to try.”

“Your stake is not nearly as personal,” Kai was feeling like picking a fight. He mourned Arthur, mourned Camelot, mourned what could have been. Perhaps most acutely of all, he mourned letting his anger and pride decide his life for him.

“I lost my father, too,” Galahad's voice was still steady, “Not in the same way you lost yours, but I still lost the only family I had to Camelot.”

“My apologies,” Kai withdrew, “It is late and I forget myself.”

“Always forgiven,” Galahad dismissed him.

Kai managed to find an empty bedroll and it was only after he had laid down he thought to check the furs. It was, indeed, his own.

Only moments later he felt another back against his.

“Come to tell me I'm an idiot?” Kai asked.

“Come to lie next to you,” Bedivere kept his voice low, “and see what you had to say for yourself.”

Kai exhaled – a loud, disappointed thing – but did not further the conversation.

“Doubt is not a good look on you,” Bedivere told him.

“It's dark and you're facing away from me,” Kai knew he was picking a fight.

Bedivere turned around. Kai felt Bedivere's face press between his shoulder blades. 

“Easy,” Bedivere muttered, “You're even tenser now. I didn't think that possible.”

“You might be surprised,” Kai put no effort into relaxing, “Galahad said the same thing when I heard him approach. Easy.”

“A more traditional 'peace' or 'friend' would guarantee a strike,” Bedivere said with a small laugh, “Easy, you know it's us.”

“Hmph,” Kai shifted, “Were you not asleep?”

“I was, I think,” Bedivere's voice began to take on a note of exhaustion, “but there were footsteps.”

“It's a wonder we set a watch rotation when we all wake with the quietest sound,” Kai pulled his furs closer, “except perhaps Mordred.”

“One of us has to be well-rested enough to pay attention to the day,” Bedivere rolled back to his own bedroll, “Morning will be here before you want it.”

Kai grunted and readjusted his furs to block the night's chill. He could hear Bedivere's soft snore before he was finished the process.

–

Mordred found himself leading the group as the midday sun was at its height.

“What if it is wrong?” Galahad broke the silence, “I know, I know, it was my idea, but does that really mean I can't question things?”

“What if it's right?” Bedivere asked.

Mordred pulled his horse to a stop. The others followed his lead.

“What if it's neither,” Mordred did not ask, “I do not think we will get to decide if the stories we tell are right or wrong.”

Galahad's form deflated, shoulders slumped and head hung low. He let his reins go slack but his horse stayed still.

“If it's wrong, we will still have tried,” Bedivere wasn't sure who he was addressing, “I would rather have tried.”

“Arthur deserves as much as I can give him,” Kai sat up a little straighter, “And if all I can give him now is a better history than life was able to give him, I will not shy away from that hope.”

Mordred kicked his horse onward. The warhorse-turned-pack horse went at his own, slow pace, the tension between the Company tempering his normal enthusiasm to move until he needed to sleep.

Kai nudged his horse on next, the beast used to Kai's handling. Galahad followed Kai's lead.

Bedivere stayed behind for a moment, watching them move. They were so separate, so far from a team that even their horses' footfalls were out of sync.

“Bedivere,” Kai turned around, “are you coming?”

Bedivere urged his horse to move, and it did – straight to the head of the line.

“Hey!” Mordred exclaimed, twisting his body to avoid a collision.

“Mind of its own!” Bedivere said by way of an apology. 

“Was he due to be a warhorse?” Mordred asked.

“That was the hope,” Bedivere slowed his beast down, “He still had quite a lot of training to go through.”

“Kai's horse hasn't forgotten him,” Mordred pointed out, “Best behaved animal here.”

“I broke him and trained him myself,” Kai found himself at the back of the Company, “If he forgot me I would have done a terrible job of it.”

“You trained horses?” Galahad asked, “When did you find the time?”

“I trained my horse,” Kai corrected, “It's a foolish thing, letting someone else train the beast whose main task is keeping you alive when you have the skills to do so yourself.”

“You were always most effective when mounted,” Bedivere said. Galahad snickered. Kai shook his head, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“The next town large enough to have an inn we can all room at,” Galahad suggested, “How about we stay for a few nights and decide what stories we want to tell.”

“Let's decide first who we want to be,” Bedivere said.

“Who we want to be?” Mordred echoed.

“We've been Knights, sons of important men, servants of Camelot wearing coats of armor,” Bedivere reached forward to pat his horse's neck, “But who are we now? Still those men? Or are we different?”

“I am no different,” Kai was quick to reply, “I am and always have been an extension of Camelot's will.”

“Even without Camelot standing?” Galahad asked.

“Camelot is an idea and a place,” Kai shook his head, “So long as we are set on telling her stories and giving her a more fitting end for the great-grandchildren of today's children, I will remain an extension of her.”

“I do agree with taking a few nights at an inn,” Bedivere backtracked, “If nothing else, a few nights in a real bed and a proper bath sound like an excellent idea.”

“Fine,” Kai grumbled, “The bath comes out of your coin, though.”

“The bath comes out of my coin if it means I can have first turn at it,” Mordred offered.

–

Bedivere lowered himself into the steaming tub slowly, his muscles crying out at the gentle warmth.

“You'd think the heat would have the opposite effect,” he said under his breath. 

He leaned back to find the water just shy of his collarbones. He braced his feet on the side of the tub so that even if he nodded off, it would take real effort to fall under the water. He had heard of men drowning that way.

The water had been perfumed – some sort of flowery, earthy scent that both relaxed him and refreshed his mind.

“It's roses and oakmoss,” Kai told him.

“Was I saying everything aloud?” Bedivere sat up a little.

“I can't say if it was everything, but probably most of it,” Kai replied. He was reclined on one of the room's beds, still dressed, feet on the floor to avoid tracking mud onto the blankets.

“Sorry,” Bedivere relaxed again, “How can you pick out the scents?”

“Half a lifetime in the kitchens,” Kai explained, “I can pick nearly every scent out from a dozen at the same time.”

“Flowers and moss seem more of the apothecary's work,” Bedivere commented, “not the kitchen's.”

“Rosemary for tinctures and rosemary for roasts come from the same plants,” Kai sighed, “All the serving boys and girls who were too young to do the heavy lifting would gather plants and bring them back to their parents for sorting.”

“Hmm,” Bedivere allowed his eyes to close, “How often did they bring back things like belladonna?”

“Rarely,” Kai sat back to begin unlacing his boots, “Thankfully. Whole batch had to be thrown out if we couldn't tell how many of the other trimmings had been touched.”

Kai's first boot came off with a thud.

“You make a habit out of passing out with your boots on, don't you?” Bedivere asked.

“Only when I'm so exhausted I've forgotten basic things like hunger,” Kai grumbled, “Why?”

“Your story of when you first came to Camelot,” Bedivere explained, “You did the same thing.”

“I go until I can't,” Kai's second boot also landed with a thud, “How's your arm?”

“Probably better than your leg,” Bedivere opened his eyes, “You're certain you don't want a soak?”

“Your coin, your hot water,” Kai dismissed him, “Besides, it's my own doing I can't calm my mind enough to warm it for myself.”

“There's room for two if I sit up,” Bedivere made no move to do so.

“I have to learn,” Kai said as he laid back down.

–

Mordred found himself curled into himself at one end of the tub, staring at Galahad, who mirrored his position at the other end of the tub.

“While splitting the costs was a good idea,” Galahad finally said something, “I don't think we thought this through.”

“There's a metaphor somewhere in there,” Mordred agreed, “How long do you think we're going to be on the road?”

“Personally?” Galahad was stretching towards the washrag they'd left on the side table, just out of reach, “As long as I can. There's a lot of land to cover and a lot of stories to tell.”

“What stories are we telling?” Mordred asked, “Not, as an idea, but...more exactly?”

“Well,” Galahad frowned, giving up on the washrag for a moment, “I think stories of unity and peace are a good place to start. Maybe of triumph over loss, but I believe Kai will know better than the rest of us which stories will give...his brother...a legacy worthy of whatever we're all seeking.”

“He seems more willing to argue than tell stories of late,” Mordred griped.

“I'd imagine he's not allowed himself to process,” Galahad's frown deepened, “He returned from the fair folk's realm not a week before the battle.”

“That little time?” Mordred's eyebrows shot up.

“Kai seems to have always had the ability to pivot on a sharper axis than most,” Galahad tried for the rag again, “but at what cost I do not know.”

“The decade he was gone,” Mordred wasn't sure how to finish that sentence.

“You would have liked the Kai I knew,” Galahad finally managed to snag the rag's corner.

“How was he different from the one we're traveling with?” Mordred asked before he could find reasons not to.

“Much sharper wit,” Galahad opened with.

“Sharper?” Mordred's mouth fell open, “Much sharper and his wit becomes as dangerous as his swordsmanship.”

“His wit may yet still be a weapon given some time,” Galahad smiled, a tentative thing, “There is a weight about him now that was not there before. Something he saw, or experienced, aged his eyes more than his body.”

“I had assumed that had something to do with the fair folk,” Mordred tried to sink under the water a little more.

“Perhaps,” Galahad shrugged, “Kai was...even more stubborn, but he balanced his stubborn streak with his duties. He was both respected and feared, though I could not tell which birthed the other.”

“I am going to ask you to refrain from using the word birthed while we're in the same tub,” Mordred shuddered.

“Okay, yeah, no problem,” Galahad mirrored the shudder, “But yeah. You and Kai would have gotten on well.”

“Hopefully we may yet get on,” Mordred knew he was sulking, “What happened. What I did.”

“Is done,” Galahad cut him off, “What we're doing is also your chance to decide who you want to be to Arthur's people generations from now.”

“I've tried not to think about it like that,” Mordred looked away, “It's not...I don't...”

“...deserve it?” Galahad guessed. Mordred gave half a nod, “What any of us deserve or are going to receive is ultimately not up to us.”

“I forget, often, you're the younger of us,” Mordred tried to meet Galahad's eyes, and failed, “It should have been me, not Agrivane of Gareth or any of my brothers.”

“Should is dangerous,” Galahad pressed his ankle against Mordred's. Mordred closed his eyes.

Mordred leaned his head back as far as it could go, his injured shoulder screaming at the attempt. He hissed and sat up straight again. When he finally opened his eyes, Galahad was watching him, head tilted to the side, eyes looking much younger and clearer.

–

“I have to learn,” Kai repeated as he lowered himself into the decisively not warm water, “I really, really have to learn.”

“It's not nearly as cold as the springs,” Bedivere teased.

“Can't say I was even in my mind at the springs,” Kai said through gritted teeth, “It worries me, if it takes doing the archers' duties and losing my brother before I can stop thinking.”

“Oh?” Bedivere was letting his skin air dry before he even tried to find something resembling bedclothes.

“What good was everything I missed, everything I sacrificed, if I can't even use it,” Kai huffed.

Bedivere made a thoughtful noise before climbing back into the tub, “What if it wasn't...all that?”

“Bedivere,” Kai's tone was caught between warning and alarm.

“What if it was the community?”

“Is that what you're doing?” Kai made room in the tub.

“Yes,” Bedivere's smile crossed into worrying.

–

“What power do you think stories have?” Mordred asked as he tried to find sleep.

“I think stories have their own kind of magic,” Galahad was also still awake, “Not in the same way, say, Kai can warm air or I can do magic, but they shape the way people interact with the world around them, so that's not a mundane thing.”

“Magic,” Mordred repeated, “We're on a journey to perform a bunch of magic.”

“In the simplest terms,” Galahad's shrug was apparent in his words despite the darkness of the room.

“Kai's magic,” Mordred changed the subject, “Do you think he was able to warm the water?”

“Judging by the bout of screaming, no,” Galahad laughed, “I think the next town overheard him screaming at Bedivere to leave off.”

“At least Bedivere found it amusing,” Mordred rolled over to face the general direction of Galahad's bed, “Is it strange, to you, sleeping in a bed again?”

“A bit,” Galahad admitted, “You?”

“Yeah,” Mordred yawned, “Nice, but still weird.”

“I'm trying not to get used to it,” Galahad added, “Who knows how often we'll be able to room like this.”

–

“You're a bit of a bastard,” Kai said to the darkness.

“More than a bit,” Bedivere agreed, “but it worked.”

“Damn near boiled myself alive,” Kai grumbled, “even if you are on to something with your theory.”

“No one works alone,” Bedivere said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, “no matter how hard they try.”

“Why do I feel that you are talking more about yourself than me?” Kai accused.

When Bedivere did not reply, Kai asked, “What secrets do your years hide?”

“Ask me again when we've told more stories of Camelot,” Bedivere's voice held a note of something Kai was unfamiliar with.

Kai settled into his mattress as much as he could, the silence too tense to find sleep without a tremendous amount of effort.

–

The innkeeper offered the Company a bowl of mushy oats, some warm sausages and a tankard of ale for breakfast. The meal was accepted without complaint.

Mordred hugged the bowl to his chest, the warmth a soothing thing.

“And it's only mid-fall,” Galahad noted, “Winter is going to be miserable.”

“We can shore up come winter,” Kai told them, “No sense getting ourselves killed by a sudden cold that cuts too deep for furs.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Galahad frowned.

“It's why no one wants to start a war in the winter,” Bedivere added, “There's just as much of a chance of your men dying from the weather as there is on someone's sword.”

“You know of war?” a man asked from the next table.

“Enough,” Bedivere tried to dismiss him.

“You from that big battle in the west?” the man asked another question.

“Aye,” Bedivere saw no sense in lying.

“Is it true, then?” the stranger looked the Company over, “That Camelot has fallen?”

“Camelot stands,” Mordred said, “as do her people. Orkney's army fell as did their king.”

“What then of Camelot?” the man was as surprised as Mordred was, “What of her king?”

“Her King lies in wait for the next time Britain needs him,” Bedivere said as if it was the most obvious answer, “It is up to us how we handle matters in the meantime.”

“I,” the man stammered. No more questions were asked, though.

The Company finished their meals in silence. Galahad thanked the innkeeper as the other three left to tend their horses.

“It doesn't quite feel right,” Galahad heard Bedivere saying as he entered the stables, “not yet, anyways.”

“It won't,” Kai answered, “not for a while.”

“When I first started training,” Bedivere paused to mount his horse, “Galahad, your animal is ready. When I first started training, I never thought I would get used to the weight of the armor. I feared I'd fail to become a Knight because I would be too slow for the rest of my life.”

“I am glad you were wrong,” Kai told him.

“The weight of the sword was my biggest hang-up,” Galahad decided to lead his father's horse out of the barn before mounting, “For a few minutes, sure, but an entire battle?”

“To be fair, you skipped the practice swords altogether,” Kai nearly managed a laugh.

“What we're trying to do,” Bedivere continued, “It's going to be a burden heavier than sword and armor alike to adjust to.”

“But if we quit before we give ourselves time and conditioning effort enough, we absolutely will fail to make a better ending for history to carry,” Mordred picked up, “It didn't feel right but it didn't feel wrong, either.”

Kai was the last on his horse, his face tight and eyes downcast.

“Kai?” Bedivere pulled his beast next to Kai's warhorse, “What is it?”

“Ask me again when we've told more stories of Camelot,” Kai echoed Bedivere's conditions from the night before. Bedivere frowned but did not pry any further. Mordred and Galahad shared a quick, worried glance.

Galahad took the lead, his horse responding well under his gentle touches. Mordred wasted no time in following. Bedivere was last to tell his horse to move.

“I say we get about half a day's ride out of town and let the horses run us for as long as they want,” Bedivere suggested, “I can't imagine the trail's pace has done much good for them.”

“They probably think they've been demoted,” Kai rolled his eyes, “Fine, but if they drive us off a ridge I'm blaming you in the afterlife.”

“Fair,” Bedivere shrugged. He watched the other three, watched their horses' footfalls still out of sync and their riding positions so drastically different it was hard to believe that they had all trained under the same principles, nonetheless that the youngest two had trained together for years.

And yet, he and Mordred had managed to tell a story together, however brief, without consulting each other for flow. It was something resembling hope that he could hold onto.


End file.
